


teen heat

by brothmobile



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, a lil anachronistic summertime fic for your wintertime viewing, accidental cold shower, anne and gilbert being bad at technology because they are actually 19th century orphans, but also mildly pervy anne and very much into it gilbert?, snarky anne and clueless gilbert, sorry to all hvac enthusiasts, very loose research assistant au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brothmobile/pseuds/brothmobile
Summary: Anne and Gilbert are research assistants when the air conditioner breaks down on the hottest day of the summer. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 31
Kudos: 291





	teen heat

Anne curses for the third time today that she forgot to put on deodorant before leaving the house. _Why is it so goddamn hot today?_

It was the summer before her senior year, and Anne had been lucky enough to snag a part-time research job working for one Muriel Stacy, PhD. After having her as a TA in her junior seminar, Anne thought she was the coolest person in the world. So of course, when she saw the job listing, she’d _leapt_ for the shot—and ended up getting the position! Considering all the other shitty summer jobs Anne had worked to pay for school, getting to hang out and read stories all day was an absolute dream come true. 

Anne’s only problems so far were (1) the lack of proper air conditioning in the tiny library archive room, and more pressingly, (2) the dingus at the next desk, Gilbert _Fucking_ Blythe.

Ugh. _Gilbert_. He was the most hateful man she’d ever met. A pre-med and a Capricorn, which should explain everything. And unfortunately, Muriel’s other research assistant. Honestly, he’d seemed nice when they had first met, if a bit serious. They’d even eaten lunch together on the first day and had a decent conversation. 

So she did not expect to walk into work the next morning and see, of all things, a carrot cake muffin and a note on her desk saying, _Looking forward to working with you this summer, carrot top._

And then, a _winky face._ Not in actual words, but still. _Winky face!_

When she’d looked up, Gilbert was grinning expectantly at her from his desk. _The cheek! The nerve!_ She’d snarled. Then thrown the muffin at his face. Then cackled as it hit him square in the forehead and bounced off his nose. He’d started to sputter something idiotic, but Anne had simply flipped him off and stuck her headphones in for the rest of the day. She’d made up her mind, even as Gilbert shot her long apologetic glances in the following days. _Fuck this guy._

* * *

That was a month and a half ago, and since then, they had developed a bearable working routine. Luckily, a lot of the work was independent: Muriel gave them a list of sources she wanted them to get through at the start of every week, so they only had to talk to split up the assignment. And, begrudgingly, Anne had to admit Gilbert was a competent worker, so at least she didn’t have to worry about him not getting his share of the work done. 

It was late July now, and not a single day this week had dipped below 32 degrees. Anne’s only salvation was the rusty AC unit in the window, though it mostly blew around stale air at this point. 

But it would not suffice today. _Today._ Oh, today was the worst it’s been all summer, at least 37 degrees and 500% humidity, and Anne is _losing it._ She’s been here for so long already, and the words all look fuzzy, and she’s smelly, and she _just wants to go home_. She’s so close to clocking out early and going back to her apartment, which she and Diana had furnished with gloriously functional AC units (#craigslist). It’s simply sheer, immense force of pride that stops her, because she refuses to cave when Gilbert is showing no sign of weakness. 

_At least it’s Friday,_ she thinks desperately. 

Anne wipes the sweat off her brow and glances over at Gilbert, rolling her eyes when she sees that his stupidly well-organized work station is, alas, still stupidly well-organized. The villain himself is equally as composed, unfazed by the heat despite wearing a long sleeve button up— _probably just to rub his lack of sweat glands in her face_ —the absolute picture of focus as he studies the documents in front of him. 

_I bet he’d never forget to put on deodorant before leaving the house._ Anne mocks bitterly, _I’m Gilbert Blythe, and I smell like someone who showers, and I look like a Victorian prince._

She continues glaring at him, at his dumb long eyelashes and stupidly curly hair. Anne thinks that it is _incredibly irritating_ the way his pencil is tucked behind his ear right now and absolutely _not charming at all_ that his suspiciously well-groomed brows are slightly furrowed.

At the same time, Anne supposes, resting her cheek on one hand, that if she were to succumb to the heat-induced delirium, and the fact that she ran out of those tiny vibrator batteries last week, that, objectively, Gilbert Blythe _could_ be thought of as boyishly handsome, with the aforementioned Victorian prince thing going on. _But like, make it sexy professor who just got tenure._ She snorts to herself. Anne continues, skirting her eyes down his broad shoulders— _such scope for the imagination there_ —and his arms where his shirtsleeves are, _dear god,_ pushed up to his elbows—his _strong, strong_ elbows. Which, of course, connect to his sinewy, tanned forearms and his sturdy looking hands, all long, _thick_ fingers and—

 _Oh shit! He’s looking at her too!_ _When did that happen!_

Gilbert’s eyes are locked on hers and he holds her gaze, an intent look in his eyes. She holds her breath. Flushes. The room grows a few degrees warmer.

He slowly drops his eyes to roam the rest of her body, where she’s wearing, what feels like now, the skimpiest sundress in all of history. Anne thinks she’s having a heat flash _._ Then suddenly there’s a voice in her head shouting _This is Gilbert fucking Blythe!!!_ and Anne snaps out of it. Before he can say anything, she whips away and shoves her overheated face into the book she’s supposed to be reading. After a minute, she hears Gilbert clear his throat, then shuffle some papers around, and she fumes. _Get your shit together, Shirley!_

With more gumption now, which definitely has _nothing to do with the himbo sitting ten feet away from her_ , she starts into the texts at her table. The air feels thicker than before, and it’s even harder to focus now. At 3pm, she decides to check out one more source before letting herself go home. Pride be damned.

Halfway through her last document, she hears a random clang but brushes it off. But then comes another clang, then a rattle, then a bigger bang, and when she looks up again, the AC unit is _spitting_ water. _Shit!_

“Jesus Christ,” Gilbert says, running over to the machine. He squats down and stares for a long second before smacking it once on the side. 

The machine simply spits more water at him. 

“Well don’t _break it!_ ” Anne says, shoving him out of the way. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Well... no. Do you?”

 _No._ “Yes,” she sniffs. Then turns the machine off and on again. Gilbert snickers, and Anne almost smacks him.

The pair waits nervously as the AC slowly comes back to life and begins blowing air. Anne turns to meet Gilbert’s eye triumphantly, and he raises his eyebrows to concede defeat. 

Then the machine starts rattling again, more menacing this time, hissing like a feral cat and spraying them both with water.

“Oh my god! What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck _,_ ” Anne says, frantically blocking the vent on the machine. “Oh my god it’s literally _pouring_ water, Gilbert what the- _FUCK DO WE DO-”_

”Uh,” Gilbert says, standing up. “Okay, let’s think about this-”

“ _DUDE WHAT THE FUCK_ -” 

* * *

Anne will recount later that she is not proud of how she handles this moment. 

Out of panic, she jumps to her feet and kicks the machine out the window and is _so fucking grateful_ once she gets a second to think that they were only on the first floor, just as Gilbert, apparently king of rationality, unplugs the demon device. The AC unit falls out the window and makes a resounding _CRASH_ as it hits the pavement. 

Anne stares at the window, abashed. She turns to look at Gilbert, whose front is _covered_ in AC unit water. Gilbert stares back. After a beat, they both _lose their minds._

“You- you said-” Gilbert wheezes, tears coming to his eyes.

“ _Don’t break it-”_ they howl, practically weeping. Anne is _convulsing_ on the floor at this point, and when Gilbert starts snorting, it sends them both into hysterics.

Anne wipes a tear as she comes down. “Oh my god. Holy shit. Okay. _Wow._ I seriously can’t believe that happened.” 

Anne rubs her face with her hands and takes a deep breath before sitting up. She looks at Gilbert, and between the last of his chuckles, he’s smiling at her amusedly. “What?” she asks.

“I feel like I just got a cold shower.” Then, slowly, he says, “Though I guess I kinda needed it.”

_Oh._

Does that mean what she thinks it means? Anne can feel her entire face turning red again. He’s still staring at her and it’s, well, _hot,_ but Anne is already so emotionally done and the stupid AC unit is still lying on the pavement, probably on fire, so Anne covers her eyes and groans. “God, I know, don’t even talk about it.”

They eventually get up and Gilbert helps her move the machine, which was luckily not on fire, back into the room. They agree without talking that it’s a good time to go home, and Anne decides she’ll email Facilities about a new AC situation from the comfort of her own apartment. 

As they walk out of the building, Gilbert asks, “So are you still mad at me?”

Anne rolls her eyes, but smiles. “No. But don’t call me Carrot Top again or I’ll kick _you_ out the window.”

“Got it,” he says, laughing. “Sorry about that. So… truce?”

“Truce. And I’m sorry too-”

“Don’t worry about it.” He opens his arms for a hug, but seems to think twice about it and puts them down sheepishly. “Ah… okay, don’t be grossed out, but I was running late today and I totally forgot to wear deodorant, and I’m _so_ sweaty and still kind of wet, but otherwise I _am_ a hugger-”

Anne looks at him incredulously before wrapping her arms around him. _Maybe Gilbert Blythe wasn’t so bad after all._

**Author's Note:**

> hi! ok so tbh this was /not what i expected/ when i decided that i wanted to write a shirbert fic.... idk what happened LOL this piece really got away from me
> 
> this is my first ao3 fic so i'd love any feedback you have! thanks for reading :-)
> 
> p.s. i don't know how air conditioners work please do not @ me.....


End file.
